


Giftwrapped

by perkynurples



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Gratuitous Smut, Lingerie, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 22:50:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2709581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perkynurples/pseuds/perkynurples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life in the Shire has been treating Thorin well - he gets to sleep in, eat plenty, and enjoy things no one would have ever guessed he might enjoy. Bilbo doesn't disapprove in the slightest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Giftwrapped

“I'm home!”

Bilbo steers inside Bag End, heaving two baskets full of groceries, not to mention the bag of beautiful young potatoes slung over his shoulder, but hears nothing but the chirping of birds and the distant snipping of Master Hamfast's scissors from the back garden.

“Thorin?” he tries, setting everything down, but receives no response – his husband might be anywhere, repairing that shovel Bilbo had broken two days prior in the shed in the backyard, or reading in his favorite spot below the big tree, or napping. Bilbo is certain he will resurface soon enough, and so he drags everything he's bought to the kitchen, sorting it all out, humming happily while filling the pantry.

“What was I – oh yes!” he taps his finger on his lips, trying to remember the vast list of tasks yet to be done and picking the most agreeable one, considering the afternoon has just started rolling into evening, and he has yet some hours of daylight left to catch. Fixing the embroidery on one of his mother's old tablecloths will best be done like that, not in the dim glow of candles after dinner.

He hurries past the guest bedrooms into what once used to be Belladonna's wardrobe, and is still filled with her old frocks, as well as the beautiful collection of Eastfarthing sheets and tablecloths Bilbo has only rediscovered recently, and swiftly deemed perfect for Sunday tea parties...

“Oh my.”

It is not often that Bilbo is genuinely shocked these days, but the sight before him is definitely one of the less expected ones even for a hobbit like him, who sometimes likes to think he's seen it all. Thorin Oakenshield, former King under the Mountain, now a domesticated dwarf but a dwarf in size, temperament and strength nevertheless, stands before Belladonna's largest wardrobe, stark naked if it weren't for the fabric and delicate ribbons of one of Bilbo's mother's corsets straining over the impressive span of his muscular, hairy chest. His mane is pulled back into a ponytail, just like both Bilbo and the conditions of the Shire have taught him to wear, and most importantly of all, his hand is closed around his large, flushed, leaking cock.

“Oh. _My,_ ” Bilbo repeats, quite flabbergasted, and only then does Thorin notice he's not alone.

“Bilbo!” he exclaims, jumping back like a startled rabbit, going incredibly red in the face almost immediately, “ _ghivashel,_ I'm... I didn't mean to-! I was just...”

“Oh dear,” Bilbo smiles broadly, stepping closer, and Thorin recoils like a wounded animal.

“I am _so_ sorry,” he babbles, “just let me take this off, I'll... I'll just...”

“Thorin,” Bilbo says simply, and coupled with his hand laid gently on the dwarf's chest, thumb tracing the exposed nipple as if by accident, it works like some sort of spell, Thorin freezing, all but forgetting to breathe.

Bilbo's fingertips trace the hem of the corset digging into skin, and a shaky exhale escapes Thorin.

“Bilbo, I...”

“Hush,” Bilbo smiles, eyes still glued to the rather wonderful picture that are his husband's pectorals all but bursting over the lines of frilly lace.

“What an unusual choice of clothing,” he mumbles happily, and Thorin tenses up.

“I didn't mean to...” he repeats somewhat feebly.

“Red and pink definitely suit you,” Bilbo comments, and the fabric strains as Thorin gasps.

“I – ah, really?”

His eyes are large and his cheeks still red when Bilbo looks up at last – how long has he been standing here, enjoying himself wearing gorgeous undergarments, and  _why hadn't he thought to tell Bilbo?!_

“You look just magnificent,” Bilbo murmurs, and before Thorin can protest, he pulls him down for a kiss, aiming for gentle, but losing a bit of control somewhere along the way, so that when they part, they're both just a tad more blushy and excited.

“Turn around,” Bilbo orders then, a bit breathlessly, and Thorin's eyes widen, but he complies, slowly.

“Oh, see now, you've butchered the lacing completely, you brute,” Bilbo mutters, the smile never leaving his lips as his fingers run across the taut ribbons biting into skin at odd angles, “let me help you with that.”

He readjusts the ribbons carefully, undoing the inexpert, hasty knot – it's far too little material and far too much broad dwarven back, and yet he manages not to rip anything. Thorin sucks in air through his teeth when Bilbo pulls for the last time, managing to tie a very nice, if tiny, bow.

“There,” he admires his handiwork, “all better.”

Thorin moves to turn back around, but one simple squeeze of Bilbo's hand stops him. Bilbo, discovering that his mouth has somehow, at some point, gone a bit dry, licks his lips and lets his fingertips dance  down Thorin's spine and to the masterful curve of his lower back and arse,  then  traveling  to the front,  as far as his hipbones, teasing thick curls of hair on his lower stomach, but retreating again, leaving his husband largely unsatisfied. For now.

Instead, he runs his palms smoothly down Thorin's sides, groping gently and chuckling when Thorin yelps.

“Exquisite,” Bilbo praises him, and Thorin makes a sound as if he still doesn't believe him, and so Bilbo sighs the sigh of a long-suffering spouse, and drops to his knees.

Pressing fluttery kisses to Thorin's backside is a surefire way of making him all squirmy and impatient in a matter of seconds, and Bilbo enjoys that immensely. He bares his teeth and Thorin lets out a high-pitched gasp, followed by a groan.

“Alright, you impatient dwarf you,” Bilbo presses into the back of his thigh along with more pecks, “turn back around.”

Thorin obliges very eagerly, and Bilbo peers up at him, biting his lip and grinning slyly before finally, finally taking him in his mouth. He's impressively hard already, and Bilbo can't resist,  he must taste him whole. He bothers the head with the tip of his tongue shortly, enticing a gruff moan, the muscles of Thorin's arse flexing under Bilbo's hand keeping them in check. He continues down the shaft, then back up, tongue flat against the length of it, circling and flickering, but then there really is nothing he'd rather do than go down on his husband's famed girth in earnest – he's hungry for it, and there really is no reason why he shouldn't indulge himself, especially when it also includes indulging Thorin.

He takes his cock as deep as it will go, one hand kneading Thorin's butt cheek still, the other assisting Bilbo's mouth and Thorin's pleasure both by closing around the shaft. Bilbo sucks him off wetly and languorously, Thorin's hips soon rocking forward to meet with his mouth. The first time Bilbo kneels up and wriggles for a better angle so that he can let Thorin's cock as far as the back of his throat, not achieving that without a faint choking sound, but achieving it nevertheless, the dwarf moans and shudders, losing balance a bit as his hips jerk seemingly on their own accord.

Bilbo pulls off, c lears his throat daintily and wipes saliva off his chin, then orders Thorin: “Back up against that wardrobe, dear.”

Thorin stumbles back almost too fast for Bilbo to follow, and when Bilbo does reach him, one of his large hands settles on the back of his head, fingers tangling in Bilbo's hair gingerly, beckoning him on.

Bilbo merely grins at that, and angles Thorin's cock up, to lick its underside, yes, but also to devote some time to his husband's jewels, granting them the attention of both his hand and his mouth. Judging by the muffled thud, Thorin must have flung his head back and hit it on the wardrobe, and Bilbo chuckles, murmuring 'Careful' before letting his mouth resume its rightful duties. The dwarf moans, thumb drawing circles on the back of Bilbo's neck, which Bilbo rewards with humming happily, hollowing out his cheeks and sucking, a wet, obscene, perfect sound.

He could tease his husband for hours like this, but that will come later – probably later today, Bilbo decides – for now, however, he's got work to do, and he knows that both of them will be perfectly satisfied if Thorin comes embarrassingly quickly just this once, like a tween being serviced for the first time ever. Besides, it seems like he was close even before Bilbo got here, good grief.

One glance upstairs proves Bilbo's suspicions – Thorin breathes shallowly, eyes shut, mouth hanging agape, his hand hovering over his mouth, perhaps in a somewhat vain attempt to to temper his delicious sounds of pleasure. He licks his own fingers almost as if he's ashamed of the gesture, and bothers his nipple, face a mask of perfect delight, which prompts an untamed moan from Bilbo himself, and he resumes his work with all that much more vigor.

He lets one of his hands squeeze tighter, ordering his husband's legs apart, the other sneaking in to cup his jewels, teasing them gently, in rhythm with the bobbing of his head.

“Bilbo-!” Thorin exclaims, and Bilbo would grin if his mouth had any room whatsoever for that.

His index finger dares travel even further, taunting the taut muscle so very near Thorin's entrance, and the dwarf almost collapses trying to keep still when his whole body is telling him to get closer, closer. Bilbo massages him utterly mercilessly now, breathing through his nose so that Thorin's cock doesn't have to leave his mouth for a single second, and Thorin's breathing tips over the edge of erratic, frantic, his hands now joined in Bilbo's hair, gripping almost painfully. Bilbo relaxes and holds onto Thorin's thighs, thus gaining enough stability that his husband can ram his cock into his mouth all on his own. His thrusts soon lose any sort of finesse, and Bilbo gives his arse what he hopes is an encouraging squeeze – _go ahead._

Thorin motions feebly to pull out, but Bilbo shakes his head fervently, fingers digging into his butt cheeks to keep him right where he is. Thorin rumbles a moan, long and deep, followed by one that is almost punched out of him, and then he all but doubles over, seed spilling into Bilbo's mouth. Bilbo prides himself on being capable of swallowing his husband's load on any odd day, but the quick messiness of this current affair hardly allows for that, and so some of it travels dripping down his chin – it's a good thing he's not wearing an ascot, _or_ one of his better shirts, he thinks, the practical hobbit he is.

Thorin groans loudly and beatifically through his climax, fingers scratching and tangling in Bilbo's hair, and before long, his exhausted and sated body betrays him, and he pulls off, sliding down the wardrobe and onto the ground, heaving heavy breaths... Which would be all well and good if it weren't for the distinctive sound of fabric ripping. Thorin freezes and Bilbo looks up at him, in the middle of wiping his chin, quirking an eyebrow.

Thorin tries feebly to assess the damage, but Bilbo sees it soon enough – the lacing gave away, predictably so.

“Bilbo, I'm _so_ -”

“Shush.”

Almost languidly, Bilbo climbs into his husband's lap, sitting on his legs astride, disregarding the mess completely, the taste of him still bitter in his mouth, but entirely bearable. Thorin looks like an ashamed stray, but Bilbo won't have any of it.

“We'll get you one in a proper size,” he murmurs quietly, and muffles Thorin's surprised gasp with a kiss.

“I assure you that's not necessary-” the dwarf tries to protest.

“I assure you it is,” Bilbo grins against his lips, fingers traveling over the span of his back to untie the knot on the ruined undergarment, “I won't have you ruin all of these in one sitting, not after they've survived with my mother for decades!”

“I really am _so_ sorry about that-”

“Oh would you just _hush_ already,” Bilbo chuckles, supporting his argument by yet another kiss, and at long last, Thorin gives in, sighing, his body relaxing, arms sneaking around Bilbo's waist and bringing him closer.

“Who could be cross with you when you've provided such a wonderful display,” he adds when they part, and he can almost feel the heat radiating from Thorin's cheeks, and so he adds playfully, nestling his head in the firm crook of his husband's neck, “I just wish you had told me you'd planned this! Is this your first time, or will I find more ripped Eastfarthing lace if I look into this wardrobe right now?”

Thorin huffs a somewhat embarrassed laugh.

“My very first time, believe me.”

“Well. Turned out quite nice, wouldn't you say?”

“Indeed.”

“Indeed. We're going to start doing this more often.”

“....We are?”

“Oh, yes. I was serious when I said we'd get you one in your size.”

“Are you... who would even be capable of fashioning such a monstrosity?”

“Don't speak ill of your size like that, dear. Besides, who said anything about fashioning? You remember Mistress Dandelia Brandybuck, I believe?”

“Oh... Oh! The...”

“The exceptionally large one, yes. I'm quite certain she'll have some of her old undergarments lying around, mine for the taking if I just tell her I need the fabric...”

“I don't... I'm not so certain I'm comfortable wearing Mistress Dandelia Brandybuck's old undergarments, Bilbo.”

“Oh, but my deceased mother's old undergarments are just fine.”

“I...”

“Joking. I get your point. It might be a bit of a challenge, but I think I can make one myself, then.”

“You – you would do that?”

“Why do you sound so surprised? Master Brook the tailor might ask me some questions when I make an order for _fifty miles_ of frilly fabric, but other than that...”

“No, you – do you remember anything I told you about dwarven courting customs? Anything at all?”

“...Maybe? Why? What does sewing corsets in complementary colors for your dwarf mean?”

“It's... frocks. Clothes in general. It's a sign of... great devotion, and intimate – intimate love, not like, say, creating armor, which would speak more of admiration, and-”

At that point, Bilbo loses control over his giggles completely, and he can't but kiss his husband yet again, all over, hands running over his chest still covered by the remnants of a corset several dozens of sizes too small.

“Well, we _are_ married, you great big log. I'd think great devotion comes hand in hand with that, and as for intimate love,” he pronounces his words by a particularly nice kiss, “I don't think we need new frocks to prove that. Though they will be a very nice addition nonetheless.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a silly little thing I wrote for a friend the other day, and it's a lot of fun, so I thought I'd share with everyone else, too! Give Thorin a peaceful life, and watch him discover kinks he never thought he might have :)


End file.
